"To to-morrow?" George asked his wife. "Why so?"
"To-morrow is my son's birthday," explained Madam Lebrenn. "To-morrow, September 11, he will be twenty-one years of age. For several reasons that anniversary was to be a family holiday to us."
Hardly had Madam Lebrenn uttered these words when the street door bell was heard to ring.
"Who can it be, so late? It is nearly midnight," observed Madam Lebrenn. "Go and see who it is, Jeanike."
"I shall go, madam!" cried Gildas heroically, rising from his seat. "There may be some danger."
"I do not think so," replied Madam Lebrenn; "but you may go."
A few minutes later Gildas returned holding in his hand a letter that he delivered to Madam Lebrenn, saying:
"Madam, a messenger brought this—there is no answer."
Hardly had the merchant's wife cast her eyes upon the envelope when she cried:
"Children—a letter from your father!"